The man who loved all, ❤️but was misunderstood.

The man who loved all, ❤️but was misunderstood.

He walked through crowds like ghosts in rain,
A quiet man with sun in his chest,
Who never cradled a seed of disdain,
Or harbored a wolf in his peaceful rest.
He held his spirit like a lantern glass,
Polished by kindness, steady and clear,
Watching the judgment of strangers pass,
Buying their distance, selling their fear.

They looked at his silence and painted it cold,
Saw shadows where only his embers grew bright.
They twisted the stories they hadn’t been told,
And bartered his warmth for a garment of night.
"He is hollow," they whispered, "a fortress of stone,"
While he reached for a hand they refused to extend,
Leaving him crowded, yet hauntingly lone,
With a heart that was ready to call them all friend.

He never knew malice, he never knew spite,
No bitterness clung to the hem of his soul.
He stayed in the marrow, he stayed in the light,
Taking the pieces they shattered and whole.
But the world loves a villain, a mirror for hate,
And could not forgive what it couldn’t define—
So they locked him outside of the garden gate,
And called his soft mercy a dangerous sign.

He sits in the quiet, unburdened by blame,
With a heart that is aching, but hums like a hymn.
They gave him a shadow, they gave him a name,
That never once held any likeness to him.
A prisoner standing in open-air space,
Misread by the pulse of the crowd as he stood;
The lonely, bright ghost in a world out of place,
The man who loved all—but was misunderstood.